Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,27

Then I start tapping on Posy's keyboard like crazy.

Shit.

8

Posy

When I push open the door to the bakery, Gunnar is nowhere in sight. Damn him! If he left my shop empty and split, I will kill him with my bare hands.

But then I hear his voice coming from somewhere in back. “Okay. Yes. That works. Got it.”

I’m not sure why I tiptoe through my own cafe like some kind of ninja. But what is he doing back there? I ease toward the doorway until I can catch an oblique glimpse of Gunnar. He’s sitting in my office chair, leaning back like a king in his throne. “Thank you, sir. Until next week. Goodbye.” He leans down and hangs up my phone. Then he glances up, catches me watching him, and his eyes widen. “Hey, sorry. My phone died. I didn't think you'd mind if I used the landline.”

“Not at all,” I hear myself say. But my heart is thumping. “Make yourself right at home.”

His grin tells me that it came out sounding snippy. “Thanks.”

My twinge of discomfort is ridiculous, right? Using my phone is no big deal. I’ve always wanted my employees to feel at home. Gunnar should be no different.

Let's face it, there's not much trouble he could get into in my office anyway. Lord knows there’s nothing to steal, except for some pie shop T-shirts and my cache of dreadfully expensive vanilla.

The real risk of dishonest employees is that they'll steal from the till. It happens. I wasn't born yesterday. I’m sure it will happen to me someday. The only way to prevent that is to run every single transaction yourself.

I can’t do that, of course. Unless I want to operate a one-woman show and work myself into an early grave. Trust is what makes the world go around. If you don't have any, then you can’t ever build something larger than yourself.

The truth is that I choose to trust Gunnar, and all my other employees. It’s not because I’m stupid—my own father lies with every breath he takes. I choose it because I want to live in a world where trust is the rule, not the exception.

So I smile at Gunnar and try again. “Did you get that email you were hoping for?”

“Yup,” he says easily. “My dad’s therapy is going to be covered under his Medicare. That's why I had to make a call and confirm his appointment for next week.” He stands up and stretches, and I'm hit with the view of his T-shirt riding up, exposing a set of rippling abs, and the narrow trail of hair that descends from his tight stomach toward ...

I jerk my eyes away.

“Something wrong?” he asks, and I swear there's a twinkle in his eye.

“Nope. No. Nothing,” I babble. “I could order you an extra-large. T-shirt, I mean! The large is a little snug. I'll do that tonight.” I turn around quickly, trying to stem the flow of words from my mouth. “Time to go, trainee. I have to lock up.”

“Yes ma'am.” He chuckles. Then I hear the wheels of my desk chair squeak as he pushes it in, flips off the lights and follows me out.

“Is he going to be okay?” I ask, regaining my composure.

“Who?” He follows me into the dining room.

“Your father.”

“Oh,” he says quickly. “Yeah. Just, uh, a bump in the road.”

“Is that why you’re back in New York?” I press.

“Exactly. I really can’t stand New York, but duty calls.”

“I’m sorry that my benefits package kind of sucks.” Gunnar wouldn’t qualify for health insurance until he’d worked full time for six months.

“It’s really okay,” he says smoothly. “Dad is covered by Medicare. And I realize you’re running a really small business.”

“Not like Paxton’s,” I say with a sigh. Gunnar makes me think about that place more than I’d like to.

“You know …” He removes the half apron from around his waist and hangs it on one of the hooks on the wall. “I thought you’d be running that place by now.”

“You and me both. The whole reason I went to business school is so that my dad would feel good about passing it on to me someday.”

“So what happened?” His big shoulders give a shrug.

“My father happened.”

“Oh.” Those cool green eyes blink. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Eh, everybody knows. He sold it out from under me to a private equity firm. I was literally the last to know. My grandfather had been dead barely a year when he took the first offer and